


Heavy Breathing

by orangeyskies



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Grimmons, M/M, Simmons - Freeform, grif - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeyskies/pseuds/orangeyskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone wanted a Grimmons, so my fellow writer and I brought you a Grimmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Breathing

"Grif, what the hell are you doing?" Simmons asked, upon finding Grif lounging on the couch in red base. The orange-armored soldier looked ridiculous, like he had just woken up, and he had what looked like chocolate (how he had gotten that in the canyon, Simmons had no idea) smeared on the side of his mouth.

"I'm taste testing," Grif replied cheerily.

"Fuck you. When we run out of food I'm going to murder you. Then I'm going to start using your body as a shield because-"

Simmons stopped himself, upon seeing Grif's puppy dog-like eyes staring up at him. Grif seemed blissfully unaware that his shirt was riding up terribly, and of course he was unaware that Simmons managed to loosen Grif's armor in secret for him a week ago.

"You were saying?"

"I would use your body as a shield because I'm mad at you."

Grif tugged on his shirt repeatedly, apparently not noticing that it wasn't pulling down any further.

"You know, Carolina called us the worst soldiers ever, and I gotta say, I didn't quite believe it. Now I sure as hell do," Simmons said.

Simmons couldn't believe Grif had just fallen asleep. He had been doing jobs for Sarge through the past two hours, and Grif had simply fallen the fuck asleep?

"Why do you say that, cuz-?" Grif glanced down at his stomach quickly, looking almost -could it be?- somewhat embarrassed, and back up to Simmons.

"No, of course not- I know I joke about your weight sometimes- You just sleep a lot, and- "

"And I'm fat."

"You're not fat, Grif, you're just, you know, a bit, uh... chubby..."

"So you admit it."

"Well, it would probably help all of us if you actually did something for once."

Simmons had a strange feeling. Why did he enjoy seeing Grif so embarrassed and flustered? Grif sat up to get in a better yelling position, pushing his stomach out a bit more as he leaned forward. His shirt looked like it was straining to contain his stomach now. Simmons wondered why he couldn't stop looking, why he wanted his hands there, and all over Grif... how soft he would feel... he shook his head. Nope. Not going there. Again.

"Okay, Grif. I don't have any problems with you. Nothing is wrong. I'm just going to leave now."

But Grif maintained direct eye contact with him. "Come over here, Simmons."

Simmons groaned. Grif stood up in front of Simmons so that they were face to face.

"I want you to look me straight in the eye," Grif said softly.

Simmons did so, but focused most of his energy on his tightening shorts.

Grif moved his hand towards his own stomach and stroked it gently, then moved his hand downward. Simmons was doing his best to watch only out of his peripheral vision, but clearly failing. His eyes had a mind of their own, and they focused on Grif's belly, poking out gently over his belt, and Simmons' face blushed red.

"It's the cyborg thing... I can't control..." 

But Grif leaned in and kissed Simmons, placing Simmons' hand on one of his sides, letting Simmons squeeze him. Grif leaned in as close as he could, so that his rounded stomach was brushing up against Simmons now, his shirt rubbing up higher.

"I fucking hate you," Simmons whispered in Grif's ear.

"I know," Grif whispered back, then shoved Simmons into a nearby wall. Grif walked up to him, placing his hands on the wall above Simmons, and let Simmons grab him by the waist. Simmons quickly pulled off Grif's shirt. He gave a sly chuckle at seeing Grif's bare upper body, then moved to feeling it all over, down to Grif's ass (which felt every bit as wonderful as Simmons thought it would).

Grif took his turn to pull off Simmons' shirt, and he had to say, even though he wasn't all that gay or anything, he couldn't help noticing Simmons wasn't bad looking at all with his shirt off. He felt a little shameful knowing that this was probably at least what the other soldiers at Blood Gulch all looked like- but hey, they weren't getting all the real action, were they?

Grif couldn't keep his eyes off of Simmons' arms, either. They weren't as weak as he imagined they would be, and his strong hands pressed nicely into Grif's skin. It drove Grif wild, and Simmons sat Grif back down on the couch, straddling his lap. He thrusted quickly on top of Grif, pushing into Grif's stomach, as he tried desperately to take Simmons' belt off.

"Hey boys, you okay in there?" Sarge called from outside the base. "I heard some heavy breathing going on! Are you actually exercising? Is Grif in the immense amounts of pain I always dream he'd be in?"

"Oh, yes, sir, he's gonna be in some pain...." Simmons called back, as Grif threw their belts onto the floor.


End file.
